


Knight In Shining Armour

by harrietelizabeth



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cinderella Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:30:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5845156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrietelizabeth/pseuds/harrietelizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Cinderella AU where Zayn is Cinderella, Liam is Prince Charming, Louis is the evil stepmother, and Harry is the fairy godmother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knight In Shining Armour

**Author's Note:**

> This is, obviously, a work of FICTION. The events/characters in this story do not reflect my views upon actual people (i.e. I do not think Louis, Jade and Jesy are evil people. They were just convenient to fill these characters in the story). 
> 
> This was part of a weekly writing challenge I'm doing, which asked for a retelling of a fairytale. So, this is my take on Cinderella. Hope you enjoy!

Zayn wakes up to a wet nose on his forehead and whiskers brushing his cheek. He presses his face further into the pillow, only for a dry, raspy tongue to start licking at his ear. He flings an arm out in the general direction of the tongue and feels his hand collide with a fistful of fur as he flings the cat off the bed. Niall lets out an indignant “meow” as Zayn rolls over, opening one eye in what he hopes is an apologetic fashion. 

“W’ time is it?” Zayn mumbles. Niall meows at him again, and Zayn sighs, pushing the covers off his bare legs, the same way he’d pushed his feline friend off the bed moments before. Niall doesn’t stay mad for long though, jumping back up on the bed to rub his head against Zayn’s shoulder. 

“Sorry buddy,” Zayn says, stroking the ginger tomcat on the head before sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The carpet under his feet is threadbare, stained with coffee and cigarette ash and God knows what else, and the mattress underneath him is thin and lumpy. If Zayn didn’t know better, he’d think he was living in a slum in Bristol, not a posh townhouse in London. 

But Zayn does know better, knows that he lives on one of the nicest streets in the city, with an elevator up to the attic where he sleeps (which he’s not allowed to use), seven bathrooms and twelve bedrooms. Not that they need it, him, his two stepsisters and his stepfather, but Louis never has been one for modesty. Rubbing at his eyes as the morning light streams in through the window, with no curtains to block it out, Zayn scratches Niall behind the ears absent-mindedly, then gets to his feet. It’s almost six – if he doesn’t get started on breakfast soon, Louis’s going to be in a shit mood all day, and Zayn doesn’t really feel like dealing with that. So he dresses quickly and starts down the five flights of stairs, Niall trailing behind him. 

It’s freezing in the kitchen, and Zayn wishes he’d brought a hoodie down with him, but there’s no way he’s going all the way back up those stairs for that. He feeds Niall first before starting up the stove, limbs and feet moving on autopilot. He’s been doing this for years, almost ever since his Mum died and left Louis as Zayn’s sole guardian. He goes about making scrambled eggs, bacon, tomato juice and wholegrain toast for Louis; pancakes with ice cream and sprinkles for Jade; and spinach, mushroom and cheese omelette for Jesy, like he has every day for the last few years. Although, sometimes they decide that’s not at all what they want and will order him back down to the kitchen to make something else, hash browns or fruit salad or oatmeal. Zayn, meanwhile, barely has time to gulp down a piece of toast before he’s summoned upstairs to their bedrooms, carefully balancing a tray of three meals with Niall weaving around his legs in a way he probably thinks is helpful. Then he’s yelled at by Louis to fix his hair, smirked at by Jesy and her boyfriend who stays over most nights, and scowled at by Jade as she snatches her pancakes from him. Then it’s into the living room to light the fire and outside to sweep the path for snow in winter, or open all the windows in the entire house in summer and make sure the air-con temperature is set to exactly 21 degrees. Then up five flights of stairs again to get Jade and Jesy’s homework, which he has to have finished the night before, leave it on the dining room table, and slip out the door just in time to miss the bus and have to run for the tube. 

He’s invisible at school, which is sort of how he likes it. If anyone knew who he really was, he thinks, he’d be shoved into lockers and teased mercilessly; as it is, whenever Jade or Jesy pass him in the hallways they either pretend not to see him or sneer nastily at him, then giggle to their friends Perrie and Leigh-Anne. Zayn much prefers the former. 

It’s not all bad. He has his books, which he reads whenever he’s not doing homework or chores – in class, on the tube, in bed late at night when he wonders what his life would be like if he was in one of those books, or if his Dad hadn’t left when he was a baby and his Mum hadn’t died when he was seven. If he hadn’t been put in the care of his stepfather Louis and made to live with him and his two daughters in what seems like luxury, but is actually a living nightmare. 

//

Zayn’s doing homework again that night, trying to write an essay on Keats that sounds like something Jade would write – without making her sound as stupid as she actually is, Zayn thinks bitterly – when there’s a scream from the next room. Probably a spider or a moth that they’ll make Zayn kill, he thinks. 

Louis thunders into the room where Zayn’s sitting, bent over a laptop that barely works (a hand-me-down from Jesy when she’d upgraded her Macbook) and glares at him. 

“What was that?” he demands. Zayn shrugs.

“Dunno. Sounded like Jade.” Louis visibly stiffens.

“Don’t take that insolent tone with me. Go in there and see what’s happened! It could be something dangerous.” Wanting to tell his stepfather that a moth fluttering blindly around a light bulb isn’t exactly life-threatening, Zayn suppresses an eye-roll and gets up, going into the living room ahead of Louis. 

Jade and Jesy are huddled over Jade’s phone, both of them beaming ear to ear and squealing at each other. 

“He’s sooooo fit,” Jade says, and Jesy nods. 

“And rich,” she adds and they both giggle. 

“What’s going on?” Louis asks when he sees there’s no immediate danger. Zayn is about to slink out of the room, but he sort of wants to see what all the commotion’s about. One of the benefits of being invisible is that no one tells him to leave.

“Liam Payne’s having a party for his 18th tomorrow night, and he invited us!” Jade practically screams, and Zayn winces. Of course Liam Payne’s having a party, and of course he invited Jade and Jesy. He’s only the most popular guy in school, and not just because his dad owns half the Monopoly board of London in real life, but because he’s a genuinely nice guy. Not that Zayn’s ever spoken to him, but he’s in Zayn’s math class, a few rows ahead of him, and he’s always joking with his mates, or speaking up when someone gets called on to answer a question they don’t know. He is fit, and he is rich, and, according to Jade as she babbles on, he’s an eligible bachelor. 

Quietly, Zayn slips out of the room, going back to his laptop and opening Facebook. It’s not like he expects anything; he mainly uses it to check the news and laugh himself to tears over Jade and Jesy’s posts, but today, he has a notification.

Liam Payne invited you to his event “My 18th”. 

Zayn sits stock still for a second, and then races back into the other room, where Jade and Jesy are arguing about who will get to wear black to the party and who has to choose a different colour.

“He invited me too,” Zayn says, and at first no one hears his quiet voice over the bickering. But for some reason he wants them to know this; wants them to know that he exists and that other people think of him. That Liam thinks of him. 

“He invited me,” he says again, louder, and this time Jade’s head snaps around to face him.

“You what?” she says, and Zayn shrinks into himself a little, his former confidence quickly dissipating. 

“He – he sent me an invite too. On Facebook.” 

Louis, Jesy and Jade all wear matching expressions of horror. Then Jesy starts talking.

“It must have been a mistake. Or, he probably just invited everyone from school, like, he doesn’t even know who you are. It was a mass invite. Doesn’t mean he actually wants you to go.”

Even though Zayn knows she’s probably right, and knows that Liam, in all likelihood, has no idea who Zayn is, he wants this. He wants to have just one night for himself, where he gets to do the things that normal kids do, like go to parties and meet people his own age, rather than hanging out with his cat. No offence to Niall. 

“So?” Zayn says. “He still invited me.”

Louis snorts derisively. “Right, and you’re going to go in, what, your rotten old jeans that have almost fallen apart and a stinky old tee shirt?” Zayn doesn’t care at this point, knows that Louis is right, and he can’t go to Liam’s in his raggedy clothes, but he doesn’t care.

“I’ll find something,” Zayn says. Louis narrows his eyes.

“Fine.” There’s an audible gasp from Jade and Jesy. “You can go: on two conditions. One, you have the girls’ and your own homework done for the entire week by tomorrow night, and two, you fork out for your own clothes and figure out for yourself how you’re going to get there.” 

Zayn makes a quick calculation in his head – he’s almost halfway through Jade’s English essay, then he just has both their Math homework and Jesy’s Art History essay to write. Plus his own. If he stays up all night, he can get it done. He’s sure he can find a clean tee shirt somewhere and put a patch on his jeans, and he’ll catch the tube. He’s done it before, skipping school to go the Royal College of Music, where he’d dreamed about going for all of five seconds before realising Louis would never allow it, let alone pay for it. 

In answer to Louis’s conditions, he nods his head vigorously, and Louis smirks. 

“Well. Better get started on that homework then. Girls, time for bed. You’ll need to be up early tomorrow so we can get started on shopping.” 

Zayn’s never typed so fast or added so many well-placed grammatical errors, just so Jade’s essay isn’t too perfect as to arouse suspicion, as he does that night. He stays up into the early hours with Niall curled up on the table next to his laptop, waking up occasionally to go to the kitchen and bring back an apple or a chocolate bar clutched in his mouth. Zayn falls asleep on the keyboard around 4am, drooling onto the keys, until Niall wakes him up by swishing his tail across his face to and make breakfast. 

He barely notices Louis, Jade and Jesy leave to go shopping, he’s so intent on finishing all the work he has to do. He doesn’t look up from his laptop except when Niall brings him a packet of crisps for lunch, until he hears the front door bang and Jade and Jesy’s voices fill the hallway. They come in laden down with bags of clothes and shoes, tittering about their day and the night to come. Louis looks at Zayn appraisingly, and Zayn must look like shit, because Louis smirks. 

“You look like you’re ready for the party,” he says as Jade and Jesy run upstairs to start getting ready. Zayn rubs at his eyes tiredly. He has one more problem set to do for Jade and a conclusion to write for his own History essay, and then he’s done. 

“I will be,” Zayn says, and Louis snorts. 

“Good luck. Jade’s behind on her personal reading entries for English, you need to write one for her on The Hunger Games, and did you forget about dinner? The girls need to eat before they go out, or they’ll starve.”

Zayn deflates; there’s no way he can do it all. He wants to throw his crappy old laptop at Louis, since it probably hasn’t even saved half the work that he’s spent the last 24 hours doing. But he knows it won’t do anything except earn him more chores and leave him without a laptop, so he drags himself to his feet, receiving a sympathetic look from Niall, and trudges to the kitchen. Briefly, he considers poisoning the food, but there’s nothing in the kitchen that would do it. Zayn needs to remember to pick up some arsenic next time Louis sends him out on his own to do groceries. 

He puts together a quick pasta dish, which is then rejected for being “too carb-heavy, the girls don’t want to be bloated you idiot,” so he leaves it on the floor for Niall, who tucks in happily, and gets started on a salad instead. He hears clattering down the stairs and smells strong perfume wafting into the kitchen, so he pokes his head round the door. Jade and Jesy are swanning down the hallway in their heels and dresses and hair, done up to the nines. Louis sees Zayn and sends a look of daggers his way. 

“You took too long on dinner, now we’re going to have to get something on the way, the limo’s already here. I’m going to drop the girls off and then go to the Grimshaw’s house while the girls are at the party. Make sure the beds are turned down for when we get home,” Louis snaps, and Zayn curls his hands into fists. 

“Bye, Zayn,” Jade and Jesy coo, blowing kisses at him over their shoulders. “Have fun with your cat,” Jesy says, and they both dissolve into giggles. Niall, sitting at Zayn’s feet, hisses at them as they shut the door. Slumping against the doorframe, Zayn slides to the floor. 

So that’s it. No party for him. No normal teen-hood, no forbidden alcohol or first kiss when he’s seventeen – or probably ever. He’ll be stuck as a house slave here forever, washing dishes and writing essays that he doesn’t actually get a grade for and sleeping with no one but a cat in his bed. 

Niall is rubbing round his ankles, mewing apologetically and batting his head against Zayn’s hand comfortingly. It doesn’t ease the weight in Zayn’s chest as he thinks of his mother, always so generous to everyone even though she’d made millions of pounds as a bestselling author. So soft and warm when Zayn had nightmares, climbing into bed with him until he fell asleep again, or buying him treats like ice cream and chips when they went out to a museum or playground. He has so few memories of her, all of them frayed and worn by time, that he can barely picture her face, and it makes him start to cry now, curling his knees into his chest and resting his forehead on them. 

“It’s not fair,” he says aloud, even though no one’s listening except Niall. But the cat’s always proven himself a good listener, ever since Zayn’s mum died and Niall had been the only piece of Zayn’s life left from before. He bunts Zayn’s knee consolingly and Zayn buries his fingers in the animals fur, feeling the warmth and softness slowly fill him from his fingertips to his chest.

But not even Niall can help him get to the party, not even Niall can give him a normal life where he’s not an orphan with a stepfather who has a height complex and two stepsisters who have been spoiled to the point of ruin. He thinks about leaving, about running away with the few clothes he has and maybe a throw pillow from the sofa or something that he can sell off for a plane ticket to America, somewhere so far away from Louis and this house and his stepsisters that none of them would ever find him. He wouldn’t flatter himself enough to think that they’d miss him, except they wouldn’t have anyone to cook their meals or do their homework or grocery shopping and laundry for them.

Just as he’s about to put his things in a rucksack and say his farewells to Niall, the doorbell rings. Zayn frowns through his tears – people hardly ever come to the house except Jesy’s boyfriend or Perrie or Leigh-Anne, and Zayn assumes they’re all at Liam’s party right now. Niall’s padding off down the hallway to the front door, so Zayn gets to his feet, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with the back of his hand, and goes down to answer it.

He recognises the man standing in the doorway, but he can’t immediately think why. Then he remembers getting the tube to school every morning and the guy with long, curly hair and an easy smile, who plays guitar and sings at the top of the stairs with his guitar case open for money. 

“Um, can I help you?” Zayn asks. He doesn’t mean to be rude, but he’s not sure why a homeless guy from the tube station is showing up on the steps of his – Louis’s – house. 

“Actually, I think it’s me that can help you,” the guy says. Zayn thinks he might be so tired he’s hallucinating, as the curly-haired man, who actually probably isn’t that much older than Zayn, pulls out a neatly folded pile of clothes, a skateboard and a tub of hair gel from nowhere. Zayn stares at him blankly. 

“You gonna let me in or what? C’mon, we don’t have much time, the party’s already started,” the man is saying, as Zayn steps aside bewilderedly and he walks in. Niall is already purring and rubbing around the man’s legs, which Zayn takes as a sign that his life is not in danger of being ended by a crazed homeless man carrying a skateboard and some hair product.

“Sorry, but – who are you?” Zayn asks, following the lanky bloke into the living room. The other guy turns around with a wide beam. His mouth looks almost too big for his face, but it’s sort of endearing. 

“Harry,” he says simply, then starts unfolding the clothes he’s carrying. 

“Nice to meet you? But…what are you doing here?” Harry stares at him as if he’s just asked him the square root of 173. 

“Helping you get to the party, dumbass. Now hurry up and get changed.” He throws the clothes at Zayn, and turns his back on him, bending down to pick up Niall. “Promise I won’t peek,” Harry says as the cat purrs and rubs against his shoulder. It’s sort of gross. 

Zayn looks at the clothes in his hands – skinny black jeans and a short sleeved button up shirt with maroon stripes – and wrinkles his nose. 

“What is this?”

“Just put it on,” Harry says, rubbing his cheek against the top of Niall’s head. “And hurry up.” Shaking his head in confusion, Zayn undresses in the middle of the living room, checking to see if Harry’s back is turned. It’s not that he’s embarrassed, it’s just, no one else has seen him in just his pants before, especially not someone as fit as Harry. To Zayn’s surprise, the jeans fit perfectly, and there are no holes in the knees or fraying around the ankles. The shirt feels strange, since Zayn’s used to wearing thin cotton tee shirts, but Harry’s nod of approval tells him it can’t look that bad.

“Button it up,” Harry says, gesturing to the shirt. “Oh, and you’ll need these,” he says, pulling a pair of black Doc Martens out of – where, his pocket? Zayn doesn’t have time to question it though, as he buttons the shirt up to his throat and sits down on the sofa to pull on the shoes. Niall is still curled up contentedly in Harry’s arms, purring. 

“You can take this,” Harry says, gesturing at the skateboard. “You’ll get there faster; there’s delays on the tube because of outages. Just make sure you’re back by midnight, ok?”

“Why, or I’ll turn into a pumpkin?” Zayn says, standing up and rocking backwards and forwards on his heels, feeling the stiff leather boots creak around his feet. Harry clicks his tongue at him, surging forward with the pot of hair gel and pulling roughly at Zayn’s hair.

“Ow, what’re you –“ Zayn protests, but then Harry steers him over to the mirror on the wall – there’s one in every room of the house, at Louis’s insistence – and shuts up. 

He’s never been much for vanity, put off by the amount of time Louis, Jade and Jesy spend primping and preening every day, but looking at himself now, he has to admit he looks….good. He looks like a completely different person with his hair pushed back off his face in a quiff and clothes that actually fit him. 

“Right, come on, enough ogling yourself, let’s go,” Harry says, his hands on Zayn’s shoulders as he steers him towards the door. He shoves the skateboard in Zayn’s hand and claps him on the back. 

“Remember, midnight,” Harry says, and Zayn nods, even though he can’t imagine anything drastic happening if he stays a couple of hours after this complete stranger’s curfew. 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” says Harry, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a silver ring. He hands it to Zayn, who looks at it closely. It’s plain, just a wide band, with two initials carved into it, T.M. His mother’s initials. His mother’s ring. Zayn remembers her taking it off to give him a bath, how she would set it carefully on the counter and slip it back onto her finger as soon as Zayn was out of the water. He looks at Harry, his heart beating wildly. 

“How do you have this?” Harry just winks at him. 

“I’ve been around, Zayn.” Zayn doesn’t remember telling Harry his name. “Now hurry up and get going, or all the booze will be gone by the time you get there.” With that he practically shoves Zayn outside into the cool night air, still reeling as he slips the ring onto his finger. It’s a little loose, and he twists it nervously. 

“Oh and Zayn?” He turns around to see Harry leaning out of the front door, Niall already back in his arms. 

“Yeah?”

“Have fun,” Harry says with another wink, then shuts the door. 

Zayn decides then, that no matter what is going on, no matter who Harry is or why he knows his jean size or how he has Zayn’s mother’s ring, he is going to have fun. Because Louis and Jade and Jesy have never let him, and, he tells himself, he deserves this one night. 

He pushes off down the street on the skateboard, checking his phone for Liam’s address that was listed in the Facebook event. It’s not far from Zayn’s house – they both live in the same swanky neighbourhood, so it’s barely ten minutes before Zayn’s pulling up outside a colossal brick fence and giving his name to a burly security guard, who checks a list and then nods Zayn through. All his senses are buzzing – he can hear music, people laughing and talking, smell girls’ perfume and cigarette smoke as he walks up to the front door which stands open. 

If he thought his own house was impressive, it seems like a flimsy shack compared to Liam’s. Zayn’s boots sink into the carpet, the walls are covered in paintings that Zayn knows are expensive, because he can’t tell what they’re of. He passes at least three bathrooms on his way to the back of the house, which is where the music is coming from, and sees a glimpse of a room with nothing inside but a sleek, black grand piano. Zayn almost slips inside to sit and play it, but something draws him on, past the endless doors and corridors leading off the main hallway, to the back garden, where it seems the party is taking place. 

There’s a pool on the other side of the garden, lit with eerie blue light that glows in the darkness, and a throng of bodies standing around the sides or splashing around in the water. Between Zayn and the pool is what looks to be a dance floor of sorts, or people dancing around on the tiles that lead down to the grassy lawn. There’s a table of drinks set up on his right, which Zayn eyes with relief and heads over to. He’s never had alcohol before, never been allowed it, even though Jade and Jesy have had champagne at their last two birthdays. Not wanting to look like an amateur, he picks up a bottle of beer and takes a long swig. 

He almost chokes when he hears a voice behind him say, “Thirsty are we?” 

Zayn spins around to face the voice, which, as it happens, belongs to none other than Liam Payne himself. Zayn freezes with his tongue swiping out to catch the beer on his top lip, eyes wide and heart beating against his ribs like a bird in a cage. He knows Liam is fit, obviously – everyone at school knows it. But up close like this, his lips parted in a genuine smile and his eyes warm and brown, almost disappearing into his cheeks with how he’s smiling, and his skin glowing in the dim patio lights, he’s probably the most beautiful person Zayn’s ever seen. 

He realises Liam has asked him a question, though he thinks it might be a rhetorical one, and in general rules of conversation, one gives an answer when one is asked a question. The only problem is, Zayn can barely remember what Liam asked, let alone think of an answer. So he says the only thing that comes to mind.

“Happy birthday,” he says weakly. 

“Thanks! Thanks, um,” Liam says, looking at Zayn as if trying to place him.

“Zayn,” he supplies, and Liam looks visibly relieved.

“Thanks Zayn. Sorry, it’s just there’s so many people here and –“

“Don’t worry,” Zayn says quickly, suddenly unable to bear the thought of Liam being upset for any reason whatsoever. He takes another long sip of his beer and feels it fizz in his stomach, like fireworks or popping candy, when he meets Liam’s eyes. 

“Do you, um,” Liam giggles and it’s the most adorable thing Zayn’s ever seen, “d’you wanna dance?” 

Zayn panics. As much as he loves music, listens to as much of it as he can on his laptop, he’s never been one for dancing. In fact, he’s not sure he’d know how to dance, even if he tried, but there’s no way he can tell Liam that when he’s looking at Zayn so eagerly and expectantly. 

“Um, I’m not really… I don’t really –“ Zayn mumbles, looking at his feet and remembering he’s not wearing his worn old Converse, but a pair of brand new Doc Martens. All the worse for dancing in. 

“No, right, that’s fine,” Liam says quickly. “We can just talk here,” he says. 

Zayn is at an absolute loss as to why Liam would want to stand here and talk to him, rather than be with his friends or one of the many girls – Jade and Jesy among them, somewhere – that would do anything for an ounce of Liam’s attention. But he stays next to Zayn, and they talk about the song that’s playing that Zayn doesn’t know, so Liam explains to him in great detail about the band who sings it. Then they talk about school, and Liam looks so put out when Zayn tells him they’re in the same Math class that Zayn abruptly changes the subject to ask Liam what he wants to do next year when he graduates. Then Liam launches into a lengthy explanation about the Royal College of Music, which only makes things worse for Zayn. Because the whole time they’ve been standing there, replacing each beer they drink with another full bottle, he’s been falling faster and faster for Liam. He’s the first person – Niall, after all, isn’t a person – who’s paid this much attention to Zayn since his mum died, who’s listened to him talk about his interests and his aspirations and what keeps him awake at night. It’s small talk, sure, but it feels huge to Zayn. And now that Liam’s told him he wants to do the same thing Zayn does, Zayn isn’t sure he’s ever going to be able to forget about Liam and the way he feels right now, warm and special and yet somehow so normal – just two boys talking in a backyard over beers. 

Halfway through a discussion over which is better between the Harry Potter books and the movies, Zayn’s voice dies mid-sentence as he sees Jade and Jesy coming towards them, elbowing each other and whispering and giggling. He angles himself away from them, trying to concentrate on what Liam is saying about David Yates’s directing style but mostly praying that Jade and Jesy will be too scared to come any closer to Liam, and won’t recognise Zayn. His prayers go unanswered, as he hears Jade clear her throat and say, “Hey, Liam,” in her girliest voice.

“Hey,” Liam says, looking over at them confusedly. Jesy elbows Jade in the ribs and she lets out an indignant “ow!” Then she seems to remember that Liam’s standing right there, and brightens her face with her sweetest smile. Zayn turns around slightly to see Jesy staring at him, that same look on her face that Liam had had when he was trying to place Zayn’s face. Maybe, Zayn thinks, she really doesn’t recognise him. 

“Um, we just wanted to say, happy birthday, and um, did you want to, maybe….dance?” Liam shifts uncomfortably from one foot to another. 

“Thanks. Um, maybe later, I’m kind of in the middle of something right now,” he says, and Zayn thinks he could probably die happy in that moment, knowing that he is more important to Liam than a dance with Jade. She finally seems to notice that Zayn’s standing there, and Zayn’s heart leaps into his mouth as he waits for her to click and start screaming and making a scene. But she just scowls, and huffs. 

“Ok. Hope you two have….fun,” she says, then turns around with her arm linked in Jesy’s and stalks off. Zayn, unable to believe they hadn’t recognised him, lets out a small laugh of relief. 

“You know them?” Liam asks. Zayn immediately composes his face into ignorance. 

“Nope. I think they’re the year below us at school,” he says. 

“Oh,” Liam says, still looking confused. Then it’s gone, as if the girls had never been there. “Anyway, the whole atmosphere of Half-Blood Prince….”

//

Someone starts a countdown just before midnight, and Zayn doesn’t even realise what it means when everyone bursts into singing Happy Birthday to Liam, while he stays beside Zayn, beaming, until suddenly Zayn feels the concrete cold against his feet. His shoes are gone. He looks down and sees holes in the knees of his jeans, and panics. Clearly, Harry had meant what he said about leaving before midnight. Without thinking, Zayn makes a run for it, as every else shouts out their “hip hip hooray’s” for Liam. He doesn’t even look back to see Liam turn in confusion at Zayn’s sudden disappearance, just runs through the house and out the front door. He hears Liam shout “Zayn!” after him, but he doesn’t stop. Liam can’t see him like this, as a nobody, living in the shadow of his stepsisters and stepfather, a cat as his only friend. He can’t find his skateboard where he left it, so he assumes that’s gone too, and he doesn’t stop sprinting until he arrives at his front door, wrenching it open to find Harry lying on the couch, asleep, with Niall curled up on his chest. They both open their eyes and look over at him as he bends over, panting, in the middle of the living room.

“You’re late,” Harry says, eyeing Zayn’s ripped jeans and bare, dirty feet. 

“What the fuck,” Zayn gasps, his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. He runs for the tube almost every day; he should really be a lot fitter. 

“I told you,” Harry says sagely, setting Niall gently on the carpet and standing up, brushing the cat hair off his shirt. “The ring should still be there though,” he says, and Zayn looks down at his hand. It isn’t there.

“Shit,” Zayn says, and Harry strides over, taking Zayn’s slim fingers in his broad palm. “It must’ve fallen off when I was running,” he says, still panting. Harry looks at him. 

“It’ll turn up eventually,” he says, a mysterious look in his eye. Then he’s standing in the doorway, looking back at Zayn as he steps outside.

“Was it worth it?” he asks. Zayn thinks about it momentarily, thinks about the couple of meagre hours he spent talking to Liam, feeling like a normal teenager who had friends and who was wanted and who maybe, one day, might fall in love. He takes a deep breath and nods.

“Yeah, it was,” he says. Harry grins at him.

“Good. Now get your ass upstairs to bed before your stepdad and sisters get home.”

And just as soon as he’d come, Harry’s gone. Zayn wonders if he’ll see him at the tube station on Monday, singing folk songs like nothing ever happened. He wonders if he’ll say hi to Harry, or if he’ll realise in the light of day that none of this was real, that Zayn dreamed it up in some sleep-deprived fantasy. Regardless of whether Harry was really here or not, though, he’s right about going to bed before Louis, Jade and Jesy get home. Scooping Niall up in his arms, he starts the ascent to the attic, thinking with every step about the boy with the chocolate brown eyes, and if he’ll recognise Zayn at school on Monday.

//

Zayn wakes up to loud banging on his door and startles awake. Niall, who was sleeping on the end of his bed, starts awake at the same time as Zayn does.

“Zayn! Get your ass downstairs now!” Louis yells through the door. Zayn squints into the light coming in from the window – it’s after seven, he thinks, so he’s probably going to be in major trouble for not having breakfast ready. He shoves Niall off the bed with his foot.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” he asks, scrambling into his jeans and tee shirt from last night, remembering the clothes Harry had brought and wondering if it really did happen. His head is pounding and his throat feels dry, so he’s pretty sure the beers were real, at least.

He rushes downstairs with a feeling like lead in his chest, wondering what the punishment will be this time. Last time he’d slept in after pulling an all-nighter working on Jade and Jesy’s final art assignments, he’d had to clean all seven toilets with a toothbrush for a month. 

When he gets to the living room, the two girls are sitting close together on the sofa, looking extremely excited about something, while Louis stands with his arms crossed in the middle of the room. 

“I’m sorry I slept in, I –“

“Zayn?” 

He hadn’t realised someone else was standing in the room until they spoke, and he reels around to see Liam standing in the doorway, looking perfect as ever in a simple tee shirt and jeans. He feels all four pairs of eyes in the room on him, and pulls at the neck of his tee shirt uncomfortably. He doesn’t know whether to acknowledge that he met Liam last night, and risk getting in huge trouble with Louis for sneaking out to the party, or to shove it in Jade and Jesy’s faces that he was the one Liam was talking to all night last night, until he’d had to go. 

Liam, however, doesn’t give him a choice.

“You left this at mine last night,” Liam says, holding something out to Zayn in his hand. Zayn hears three simultaneous gasps from behind him, but, seeing as his secret about going to the party is out anyway, he ignores them, and takes a step towards Liam.

He’s holding out the ring Harry had given him last night, the one with Zayn’s mum’s initials on them. It glints silver in the bright lights of the living room as Zayn takes it out of Liam’s warm palm. Their eyes meet, and Zayn feels something like an electric shock go down his spine. Then all the energy between them fizzles away as Louis strides over and snatches the ring from Zayn.

“Give me that,” he says, peering down at the ring. “This isn’t yours, you thieving little shit! This belongs to Jade!” Jade looks utterly perplexed, but she stands up, smoothing her hair and her skirt. 

“Look, sweetheart, your ring!” Louis says, going over to her and shoving the ring on her finger. It’s huge on her, bigger even than it was on Zayn, but she holds it on by squeezing her fingers together. 

“Oh, yes!” she exclaims, finally catching on. Louis nudges her again. “Thanks Liam, thanks so much for bringing it back to me. I was so worried I’d lost it,” she gushes, and Zayn feels hot, red fury boiling in his chest. He glances over at Liam, who looks extremely lost. Suddenly, all Zayn’s anger comes to the surface, over his treatment for the last few years, the constant taunting from his stepsisters and Louis’s strictness, the way they walked around this house like they owned it, like it wasn’t Zayn’s mum who had done all that hard work to get to where she had, to give her son a nice home to grow up in. Zayn’s mum, who’d left behind a ring that was now on the finger of one of the girls who had made Zayn’s life hell for the past decade.

“Give it back,” Zayn says, his voice trembling with rage. 

“No!” Jade shouts, holding her hand behind her back. “It’s mine!”

“It’s mine!” Zayn yells, lunging for her. “It’s got mum’s initials on it!” 

“Bullshit!” Louis yells as Zayn tries to wrestle the ring off Jade’s finger and Louis tries to wrestle Zayn away from Jade. In the confusion, none of them notice Liam stride over and pull Louis off Zayn, holding him at arm’s length while he deftly takes the ring off Jade’s finger, holding it up calmly. 

“T.M,” he says. “That mean anything to you Jade?” She falters, still touching her finger. 

“Sure,” she says. “Um, my middle names. Tina, um, Marie.”

“You got your middle name initials engraved on a ring?” Liam asks, and Zayn feels a burning in his chest for Liam, for coming to his rescue like some Prince Charming, some knight on a white horse. 

“Y-yeah?” Jade stammers, but Zayn can see her resolve fading. 

“I saw this fall off Zayn’s finger last night,” Liam says, then turns to Zayn, who’s frozen to the spot. “I tried to chase after you, but you were too fast. Why did you leave?” 

Because a crazy guy turned up at my house with clothes and a skateboard and hair gel and made my cat fall in love with him, then told me I had to be home by midnight or all of it would disappear, Zayn thinks. But of course he can’t tell Liam that. 

“I just – I dunno. I freaked out. You didn’t recognise me and I thought if you found out who I really was, you wouldn’t, um. You wouldn’t still want to talk to me,” Zayn says lamely. The worst part is, it’s partially true. 

“What do you mean, ‘who you really are’?” Liam asks, looking confusedly from Jade to Zayn to Louis and back to Zayn again. Jesy is still enjoying the drama from the safety of the sofa. Zayn shrugs, reluctant to spell it out for Liam. But then he realises he doesn’t owe Louis or his stepsisters anything. They’ve tortured him for years, made him work like a housekeeper instead of being part of the family, made him feel invisible, like a nobody. 

“Who I really am – a nobody,” Zayn says. “Someone who lives here, with this lot, sleeping in an attic and making breakfast for everyone every day and doing their homework, their laundry, never being allowed to go to parties because God forbid I meet someone actually likes me besides my cat!” The silence in the room is palpable, as Jade and Louis and Jesy stare at him in horror. 

“I think,” Liam says slowly, “that maybe you should stay at mine for a while.” Zayn feels numb, like he’s underwater, like Liam’s talking to him through glass. He’s not sure, but he thinks Liam just asked him to come to his house. Where he lives. To stay. Maybe not forever, but for a while.

“What the fuck do you mean,” Louis states bluntly, and it’s the sound of his voice that shocks Zayn into action. That voice that’s ordered him around for years, told him he wasn’t good enough to go to the same parties and shops and restaurants as his daughters, telling him he was worth nothing. 

He grabs Liam’s hand and bolts upstairs, taking them two at a time until they reach the attic, panting.

“This is where you sleep?” Liam says, hovering in the doorway. Zayn turns around from where he’s throwing the few clothes and books he has into a bag. 

“Yeah. Twelve bedrooms, and this is the one they give me.”

“Has it always…has it always been like this?” Liam asks, eyeing Niall warily on the bed. 

“Since my mum died,” Zayn says quietly, slinging his backpack onto his shoulders and walking over to Liam. He doesn’t want to hide anymore, now that he knows Liam still wants to talk to him, that he doesn’t care who Zayn’s family is. 

“Zayn, I – I’m so sorry,” Liam says, and Zayn is filled with a sudden, insane desire to kiss him, because no one should care that much about a boy they met the night before. “Really, if I’d known –“ Liam says.

“Really, it’s fine,” Zayn says, conscious of how close they’re standing. “But….did you really mean it? About coming to stay with you?” He realises, now that’s he’s packed his bag in a frenzy, that Liam might have just been saying that to be nice.

“Of course. You can’t stay here, your stepfather’s crazy. We’ll talk to my dad about it, see what he can do. We’ll both be finished school in a few months anyway, then we can figure out what happens next.”

Zayn still wants to kiss him, but he settles for throwing his arms around Liam’s neck. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve someone like this, who cares so much without questioning anything, but he has an inkling it might have something to do with Harry. 

“Thank you so much Liam. Honestly I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You don’t have to,” Liam says, his arms still around Zayn. Zayn feels warm, and safe, and slightly dizzy. They pull apart, and Zayn hopes Liam can’t see how he’s blushing. “You ready?” 

Zayn turns, taking one last glance at the tiny, cramped attic room with its worn carpet and saggy mattress. He sees Niall perched on the bed, looking at the two boys apprehensively, and turns back to Liam. 

“Can I bring my cat?”


End file.
